Dinner with the Dark Lord (and Company)
by iviscrit
Summary: Tom might be the rising young Dark Lord to his followers, but he's still not above dinner dates with attractive women. When he accidently schedules a Death Eater meeting on date night, however, mayhem ensues. Sequel to "Breakfast for Two." Humor. TMR/MM. R&ring is love.


There were more productive ways to spend a Friday evening, Tom Riddle thought to himself as he adjusted his tie in front of the mirror, but this would be much more enjoyable. He heard the knock at the door just as he finished, and smiled.

"There's my favorite witch," he said. "Come inside."

"'Favorite' implies that I'm not the one and only," she said with a wink. "Oh, am I underdressed?"

Tom quirked a brow. "Define 'underdressed.'"

She stepped inside, giving him a quick peck on the cheek. "Did you want me to wear something a little more date-appropriate?" She slipped off her shoes. "I just came from a presentation at the Ministry, it ran longer than expected."

"That explains business casual," he said with a nod. Minerva was wearing a sensible white blouse and pencil skirt, with a navy blazer over her arm. Her heels, though a bit higher than he thought practical, were of a minimalist design and black leather. Still, he thought, as she pulled the elastic from her bun, allowing her dark hair to tumble around her shoulders and face, she looked nice. "But you look as lovely as ever."

"You say that to all the women, I know your ways," she scoffed, though her expression betrayed her pleasure at his remark.

"Ah, but I only mean it when I say it to you," he said smoothly. "Now, the reservation isn't for another fifteen minutes.. you're early."

She rolled her eyes. "Infinitely preferable to being late. Are you telling me that you'd rather I came fifteen minutes later? You can't abide an extra fifteen minutes with me?"

Tom laughed. "If you're going to be like this, then no, I can't."

She narrowed her eyes, fighting a smile. "Touche." She twirled on the tips of her toes, her hair fanning out. "I suppose we can sit around and talk about trivialities if we must."

"We don't have to," he pointed out. "We could forgo dinner at-"

"And what? Have me cook?" Minerva pursed her lips. "It's your turn to reciprocate. That means dinner that I don't have to make. Besides, I've had a grueling week. I'm not in the mood for anything requiring a terrific amount of energy." She sat on the sofa, patting the seat next to her. "Come, Tom. Engage in the pithy, perfunctory prattle that is so prevalent among couples in present day."

"Your alliteration knows no bounds, much like your wit," he said, joining her. "But you're boring me."

"Am I?" She tossed her hair back behind her shoulders, and the softly flickering light from the fireplace lent her face a mysterious appearance, the red-orange flames reflected in her large green eyes. He gazed at her appreciatively, taking in the warm flush in her cheeks and the smooth slope of her neck and chest beneath the crisp office blouse. "You're so insufferable," Minerva whispered, leaning away from him and tracing her finger down his cheek. "I think you're tired of me intellectually, and are only interested in the baser things I have to offer."

"Don't be a prude," he ordered, and in a moment they were entangled, words forgotten though their mouths were hardly inactive. It was really the only natural progression, Tom thought to himself, enveloped in the scent of her perfume and her arms around him. They had fifteen minutes. After a distractingly busy workweek, he was hardly in the mood to waste breath on meaningless banter when he could waste it in a much more pleasurable way. His fingers knotted themselves in her hair, tipping her head further back. She murmured something indiscernible, but he paid her no mind, moving along her jawline.

"Tom," she snapped, pliancy gone and her usual stern demeanor back in place. "Your fireplace is green."

"So are your eyes," he said charmingly. "Did I ever tell you that's my favorite-"

"That's all very sweet," she said, "but irrelevant. Did you hear what I said? Your fire is green. Are you expecting someone?"

Tom frowned. "No…." The realization struck him as the visitor arrived in the hearth. "_F*ck_….."

Minerva smiled exasperatedly. "Is that a yes?"

Tom grimaced. "It pains me to admit this, but I had forgotten about a prior engagement when I told you Friday would be perfect." Mentally, he cursed himself with the most colorful names in his extensive vocabulary. How he had failed to remember the meeting of Death Eaters he had called, when the first order of business for the night was the induction of new members, he would never know. "Evening, Rosier," he said dully. Of _course_ they would be wearing their robes. Why hadn't he planned things properly?

"My lord," Rosier said with a deep nod.

Minerva raised her eyebrows. "Tom?" He suddenly was aware of her still on his lap and his tie undone.

"…yes?"

"Why did Rosier call you 'my lord'?"

Rosier looked puzzled. "Is she not an inductee, my lord? I'll admit I was surprised to see McGonagall, but why else would she-"

"She's not," Tom said loudly, cutting him off. "Minerva," he said, turning back to her, "I'm sure you aren't an exhibitionist, you don't want to… ah, be like this with a guest in the room."

She gave him a look of disgust. "Answer the question, Tom."

"I…." He cast around for an excuse that held water. "…I command respect?"

"What's this about inductees- oh!" She turned, her legs still in his lap, looking at the fireplace. "Are more of your friends paying a visit?"

Tom scowled darkly. "Unfortunately."

"You were excited at the prospect of new recruits, my lord," Rosier said, confused.

"Rosier, if I hear one more word from you, I will end you," he said coldly. "_That_ prospect grows more and more exciting every time you open your mouth."

"You're quite effective at stopping someone's chatter," Minerva observed drily. "Why don't you use your… ah… _method_ on Rosier?"

Tom pushed her legs off of his. "This is the worst possible time for your- ah, hello Abraxas."

"Evening, my l- Tom," Abraxas Malfoy said, frowning when he saw Minerva. "I didn't know that Minerva would be-"

"Yes," Tom said in a rush. "A bit of poor planning on my part, but I'm glad of any time I have with her, what with her intimidating schedule."

"Flattery will not get you out of the endless questions I now have," Minerva said coolly. "But thank you, darling. I'm fond of you too."

Abraxas stifled a snort. "'Darling'?"

Tom raced through the list of established Death Eaters and inductees in his mind. "I suppose the latecomers need a bit of a reminder?" Tom said with a sigh, pulling up his left sleeve and bringing his fingers to the mark. "You may want to look away," he said to Minerva.

"You said that was a tattoo from your sixth year." She crossed her arms. "A 'poor decision,' if I remember your words correctly. Have you imbibed it with magical properties now, that I'm not allowed to see?"

She wasn't far from the truth, and Tom was suddenly reminded of the cons of an intelligent, astute [companion] like Minerva. He certainly was not ready to draw her into his secret life- once in, she'd know too much, and there'd be no means of getting her out, save murder. And he was unsure if his efforts to do so would be well received. Including her, naturally. In all his experience with murder, it was never well received. "Curiosity killed the cat," he said lamely. It was a woefully inadequate reply, he knew, and she knew it too.

"And hell hath no fury like a woman ignored," she said sharply.

"You got the quote wrong."

"I _know_ that's not the quote. I altered it for _effect_."

"I think you're just not as well-versed in Shakespeare as you'd have me think."

"Stop trying to change the subject," Minerva said in irritation. "What's going on?"

Tom pinched the bridge of his nose. The knock at the door indicated that the rest of his followers had arrived. "Abraxas, would you-?"

"Yes, my Lord."

"Stop calling me that!" he snapped. "All right, Minerva. I suppose I do owe you an explanation." He offered her his hand. "There's something I need to show you," he said, pulling her to standing and leading her to his bedroom.

"If this is all a dramatic ploy to get me in the sack-"

He laughed. "I am wounded! I would never insult your intelligence with such an insipid and ineffectual ploy." He closed the door behind them. "What I am about to tell you may never leave this room."

She nodded. "I understand."

"I haven't been completely forthright with you about the nature of my research," he said gently, sitting on the edge of the bed and pulling her down next to him.

"Go on," she said, looking at him with a trace of worry in her eyes.

"Promise me that this won't affect what we have," he said, both her hands now in his.

"Tom, this might not be the best time to say this, but I love you," she said earnestly. "It'll be fine."

"So… just to reconfirm, whatever I'm about to do or say will _not_ impact the current state of our relationship," Tom said, quirking a brow.

"No," she said with an exasperated smile.

Tom looked at her, a very daring and extremely unacceptable idea at the forefront of his devious brain. "Oh. Well, that's good." He snatched her wand and bolted, locking the door behind him.

"TOM MARVOLO RIDDLE!"

He muttered incantations under his breath, casting wards on the door. "That ought to hold her for a couple of hours," he said with grim satisfaction. He'd make it up in some way or another, though it would be exponentially more difficult now.

o0o

"Good evening, gentlemen," he said imperiously as he descended the stairs to find his Death Eaters talking amongst themselves. "I apologize for the little… delay."

"Where is McGonagall?" Rosier asked. "Will she not be joining us?"

"Minerva is not an inductee," Tom said in annoyance. "I made that clear a moment ago."

"Then why-"

"I tire of this conversation," Tom said dismissively. "Crucio." He watched dispassionately as Rosier fell to the floor, convulsing as he tried to contain his screams of agony. "Does anyone else want to ask me about Minerva?"

"My lord," Abraxas said carefully, "I cannot help but ask where she is now."

"She is unable to join us for the evening," Tom said with an odd smile.

"I think he had plans with her for the evening," Dolohov whispered to Rosier as he helped him to his feet. "I don't understand why she isn't allowed at the meeting, though.."

"Maybe she doesn't know that Tom is the Dark Lord?" Rosier muttered. "But then why-"

"No talking," Tom said, bringing his wand down in an arc. Dolohov and Rosier were shoved apart, as if by a wall. "Inductees, come forward." He crossed to the fireplace, lifting an oddly shaped poker. The other Death Eaters knew it well; the end bore the serpent and skull that was imprinted on the left forearms of the majority of those in the room. Tom was familiar with the feel of the cool slender handle of the brand, feeling heat and magic creep along its length as he bewitched the fire that made it glow white-hot and murmured the incantations that would imbibe the marks with magical ties to his own. They were more than a means of communication and a sign of allegiance; he had learned, after experimental errors when he performed the procedure on himself and his first Death Eaters back at Hogwarts, that the magic he used to brand his followers was intimately connected to him. They could sense when his power spiked, and could sense when he was at normal levels or even ill. And he could feel the awe and fear that ran along that magical channel from them to him, rooted in the magic that was as vital to his power as his own lifeblood.

He always regarded those who let loose cries of pain with distaste. He himself recalled the number of times he had subjected himself to pain in pursuit of progress, and had never allowed such weakness of the flesh. Still, the scent of burning flesh did turn his stomach a bit- it was something he had never been able to acclimate to. "Rise," he said, all of the inductees marked. "In our crusade to preserve magical purity, you will serve me-"

The sound of an explosion came from upstairs.

Tom felt a vein pulse in his forehead. "Ahem. You will serve-"

His bedroom door crashed down the stairs. "…my lord?" Abraxas said timidly. "Perhaps you ought to-"

"Protego," Tom snapped, casting a shield charm that enveloped the assembled party. He was not a moment too soon as a bolt of energy, likely a potent jinx from Minerva, ricocheted off the shielding bubble. "Hell hath no fury like a woman scorned, indeed."

Minerva shot down the staircase uncommonly fast. "We are _beyond_ over," she snarled, storming over to Tom and yanking the brand from his hand, wielding it like a weapon. "I can't _believe_ you would-"

"You're acting irrationally," Tom said calmly, taking her wrists in his hands and forcing her to drop the poker. "Don't make a scene, Minerva-"

"-you're having a bizarre meeting of questionable legality, or you wouldn't have _locked me in the bedroom_-"

"Ordinarily you wouldn't have an objection to the last bit," Tom tried with a weak chuckle, hoping to dispel her anger with a quip. It appeared to work on a handful of his Death Eaters, but Minerva did not appreciate his humor.

"-and all this after I told you I _loved_ you," she burst out. For the first time, he noticed her eyes were red, and he wondered if she had been crying. He certainly hoped not; he ranked crying women on the same level as swing music and conversing with Dumbledore- he just wanted it to be over. Not to mention it spoke poorly of his wards if they were so easy for her to break. He resisted the urge to ask if that was the case, though. He doubted such a question would be well received at the moment.

"Minerva," he said soothingly instead, drawing her towards him by the waist. "Do you think your feelings aren't returned?"

"Let go of me," she snapped, pushing him away by his shoulders with a strength he did not know she possessed. He grappled with her, finally pinning her arms to her sides and holding her still. "I told you to let _go_," she said vehemently, and with an impressive display of wandless nonverbal magic, he was forced to release her as green flames danced up his arms.

"Unnecessary," he muttered, extinguishing them. "Minerva, let me explain."

"I've had quite enough of your _explanations_," she said with a toss of her hair. "I'm leaving."

Tom looked at the Death Eaters assembled. The new inductees looked a bit frightened, but that might have been due to the new marks they bore, and the consequences and obligations they represented. The senior members, having known him in Hogwarts and having pledged themselves to him in their senior year, looked mildly amused and more than a little surprised. He groaned. "We'll adjourn early," he said. "This settles it, I'm buying a day planner_._"

"Yes, because clearly that's going to solve everything," Minerva cut in.

"Abraxas, would you-?"

"Yes, my lord."

"I told you to _stop calling me _that!"

Abraxas winced. "Sorry." He attended to seeing the others out.

"Minerva," Tom said, pulling her to the couch. "Hear me out. Here, I'll give you back your wand-"

"Fine," she said, snatching it back. "Give me back the time I've wasted on you while you're at it."

Tom pinched the bridge of his nose. "May I continue?"

"I really don't give a damn, one way or another."

"I scheduled a meeting for an organization I started in Hogwarts for tonight, and when you called, I had completely forgotten about it, because of the prospect of seeing you," he said honestly.

"I believe that much," she said stiffly, "but what does this organization _do_ that's so classified? Was locking me up even _necessary? _You know that I'm adept at wandless magic!"

"Okay," Tom said quickly, his brain whirring into overdrive. What would seem believable, fall in line with the events that she had witnessed, and make her laugh? He always managed to turn things in his favor when he made her laugh. "Um. This is very embarrassing… but I… you know that I am not fond of my given name."

"Yes, that whole story about your mother, the time in the orphanage, your father- I believe you told me during that weekend in-"

"Yes," he said, readying himself for a truly humiliating line. "I've taken a new name with my… ah.. followers. Out of respect for me, they call me 'my lord' as a formality, but I've chosen a new name to go by, when my… plans…. go public."

"What plans?"

"Oh… political gains," he said carefully. "This could be the beginning of a new political party, Minerva.. I was unsure how you would see it, since I have spoken before of my reluctance to go into politics. You of all people ought to know the inadequacies of the Ministry."

"Okay," she said skeptically, "and what about the name?"

"Voldemort," he said. "But you're likely to-"

She snorted.

"Excuse me?"

"What a pretentious, vile name," she said. "_Lord Voldemort_. Merlin, I can see why you were embarrassed to tell me now…"

"It's hardly funny," he said, genuinely offended but satisfied to hear her laugh. "Stop laughing at me."

"It sounds like the name of a cartoon villain in a children's book," she said, abandoning her efforts to hide her amusement. "Tom, you could have told me _that_."

"Now can you see why I didn't want to?" he asked, trying for a hurt expression. If she forgot about the dark mark, that would be a flawless conclusion to the massive inconvenience the evening proved to be.

"A little," she said as she took his hand, intertwining their fingers. "You worry too much about my opinion of you. I find your little eccentricities endearing."

Tom felt as though he deserved a prize for flawlessly saving himself in a messy situation. "You worry too much about how I feel about you."

She kissed him, which he took to mean all was forgiven. "Well, thanks to your disorganization, dinner won't be happening…"

"No, I suppose not."

"…unless I teach you how to make something?" she asked sweetly.

He shrugged. "Sure."

o0o

Learning how to make soda bread had proved to be oddly soothing, Tom thought appreciatively, especially when he could stop worrying about Minerva's prying. The loaves were rustic in appearance, with a crusty exterior and a fluffy interior. He glanced at Minerva, curled up against him on the sofa. Her hair obscured her face, and his left arm was around her, sleeves still rolled up from making the bread, and he smiled when she stirred, lightly adjusting the position of his arm.

"So tell me," she said suddenly, in a loaded tone of voice that indicated she was very much awake and had every intention of prying, "what exactly is the significance of the brand?"

Tom could only stare as she slowly turned to him, gripping his wrist in her hand and a significant look in her eyes. "Ah.."

"You're not off the hook, Tom," she said snidely. "I expect that you have a good deal to explain."

He didn't want to do it, but he had no choice. "Obliviate."

Why exactly had the majority of his past amours been less than intelligent? Perhaps because keeping things secret from them had been laughably easy. He regarded Minerva with grudging respect as she recovered from what was arguably his best memory charm since Morfin Gaunt. "I have an awful headache," she said, bringing a hand to her temple. "Will you mind terribly if I ask you to take me home?"

"Not at all," he said.

"Perfect." A frown slowly spread over her features. "Tom.."

"Yes?"

"Why is the door to your room on the stairs?"

Tom paled. _Damn._ He knew he had forgotten something. "Um…"

"And what is _that_?" She pointed at the poker that bore the dark mark.

Tom wordlessly pushed Minerva away from him, standing and ascending the stairs, returning the door to its proper place with a delicate flick of the wrist. "We're done."

She looked bemused and a bit worried. "What do you mean?"

" Just… just stay the night or go home or whatever, I really don't care at this point… I'm done talking to you."

She was right behind him on the stairs. "Have I done something-"

"No, no," Tom said tiredly, "at least, nothing you'll remember."

Minerva forcefully turned him towards her. "Right then, what's your problem?"

"Dinner with the dark lord," he said succinctly. "Now no more questions if you're staying the night."

"What does _that_-"

"Silence," he murmured, stopping her mid-sentence. "It means whatever I meant, Minerva. Now either leave me in peace or make it worth my while to stay awake."

"You are insufferable," she whispered, pulling him towards her. "As you wish, my lord," she added mockingly.

He ran a hand through her hair, a dark chuckle escaping him. "Ah, it sounds so nice when you say it."

"Don't get used to it."

"Too late," he said, and he wondered if someday, he might let her in on the truth of his words.

* * *

**A/N: I LOVE THEM. CAN THIS SCENE HAVE HAPPENED. PLEASE. I NEED IT IN MY LIFE.**

**That being said, I'm not going to continue this series any further unless requested- it's run its course. Hope all enjoyed. J**


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